The Wolf in Rohan
by Penlym
Summary: Sequel to 'The Wolf and the Fellowship'. Now in Rohan, Tarlen has to deal with suspicion and fear as more people discover her wolf heritage, and her evil Warg relatives... Please R&R! Eomer/OC
1. The Four Hunters

Disclaimer: As much as I wish I did, **I do not own any of Tolkien's works**, I only own Tarlen.

Xxx

Tarlen heaved a great sigh of boredom as Aragorn continued to press his ear to the rock. What could stone tell you of an army's whereabouts? In her opinion, he was crazy. _But then,_ she mused_, I suppose we all are to agree to go on this quest._

He lay like that for hours, and for a moment, Tarlen thought he was asleep, when he murmured, "Their pace has quickened. They must have caught our scent. Hurry!"

Tarlen groaned and leapt forward, shortening her strides to match Aragorn's. Behind them, Legolas called, "Come on, Gimli!"

At the distant sound of Gimli's grumbling, Tarlen laughed. Aragorn looked at her oddly, and she just shook her head. Her wolf ears were much sharper than a man's, even sharper than when she was in human form.

"If it helps, Gimli," she shouted back to Gimli in her gravelly wolf voice, "I smelt them a while back, and we are going in the right direction!"

"Smelt! Now I can say a lot about that! You can't smell them now, can you?" He grumbled. Tarlen chuckled. She knew they were going in the right direction with or without her sense of smell. Call it a sixth sense, or a woman's intuition. They were going in the right direction, and Merry and Pippin were alive; she could feel it in her bones. It was the 'why' she was worried about.

The four hunters ran over rocks and plains, with Aragorn in the lead, closely followed by Tarlen, then Legolas, and Gimli at the back. Tarlen noticed that from time to time, Legolas would glance back at Gimli to check he was keeping up. Tarlen smiled. How far the two had come.

Between two great slabs of rock, Tarlen saw something on the ground. She barked, and at the same time, Aragorn saw it, bending down to retrieve it. It was an Elven brooch.

"Not idly do the leaves of Lórien fall," he murmured.

Legolas caught up with them. "They may yet be alive."

"Less than a day ahead of us," Aragorn agreed. "Come!"

Gimli stumbled into the clearing behind them, tripped and rolled to the ground.

"Come, Gimli!" Legolas encouraged. "We are gaining on them."

"I'm wasted on cross-country," Gimli panted. "We dwarves are natural sprinters! Very dangerous over short distances."

Tarlen sighed, chuckling slightly. "I can take your weight, Gimli, if you are too wasted to do any more running!"

"Haugh! The cheek of youths these days," Gimli retorted. Tarlen shook her head and bounded after Aragorn, not needing any rest. They came over a hill, and Tarlen almost bumped into Aragorn, managing to scramble to a stop just in time.

"Rohan," he informed her questioning look. "Home of horse-lords. There is something strange at work here. Some evil gives speed to these creatures, sets its will against us."

Legolas and Gimli caught up with them, and the former ran ahead to the edge of the cliff, squinting into the horizon.

"Legolas," Aragorn cried. "What do your Elf-eyes see?"

"The Uruks turn northeast. They're taking the Hobbits to Isengard!"

"Saruman,"Aragorn muttered, dismayed. They ran on over plains of grass and protruding rock.

"Keep breathing! That's the key. Ho!" Gimli intoned.

"They run as if the very whips of their masters were behind them," Legolas informed them.

The grass was thick, and Tarlen revelled in being able to run in open grassland again. The land was beautiful, sloping in some places and rough from rocks in others. The area was very open, and yet there were many places to hide beneath rocks and boulders. _My father would love this place,_ Tarlen thought with a soft smile. She almost didn't want to step on the ground, feeling dirty against such beauty. Her coat was matted and blood spattered, and Tarlen had long ago gotten used to her stink. Her paws and belly was covered in sticky mud from some rainfall they had had on the first day.

They journeyed like this throughout the night, stopping only for bare necessities.

Tarlen perked her ears up. She could hear thunder, the thunder of many hooves beating upon the ground.

"Horses!" She called softly to the others, and they hid behind some large boulders. First she saw the tips of raised spears, with banners being beaten by the wind, then helmets, shining silver in the sun, and cloaks of forest green resting on their shoulders. Their horses were magnificent, as Rohan's horses should be, proud and regal; a flurry of colours as they galloped passed the four hunters.

Aragorn emerged from hiding, followed by Legolas, Gimli and Tarlen. "Riders of Rohan! What news from the Mark?"

The leader of the riders raised his spear, and at his signal, the company turned in a wide arc and galloped forward. Have you ever had a herd of horses galloping straight towards you at almost full pelt? Times that by ten and we may be getting somewhere. The fact there were riders with deadly weapons and strong shields added to a, shall we say, disturbing feeling.

Along with this, Tarlen couldn't help but admire at the way the mass of weapons glittered in the sunlight; the way the riders commanded their steeds with an easy grace, and the way they bore themselves proudly.

This foolish notion was quickly pushed away as the riders began circling them, one by one, in a huge, menacing mass of deadly numbers and even deadlier steel. Tarlen automatically shrank away, the wolf intimidated by the loss of space, when her human mind stayed the movement. _What am I doing?_ Tarlen thought with disgust. _I am a wolf of the Ellahar, race of the shifters, we do not run away._

So she stood her ground, baring her teeth and snarling at anyone who came to close. The riders finally stopped, pointed their spears in the four hunters direction. Tarlen couldn't help but smile smugly—which looked more like a snarl—when she realized that the riders near her couldn't stop staring at her in a mixture of confusion, awe, fear, and wonder. For how could a wolf grow to be as large as their horses? And what was it doing with this strange company?

Someone pushed through one the ranks. From what she could see, he had green-brown eyes and the long blonde hair common in Rohan. He had a short beard that was just a little bit too long to be stubble, and clothing that befitted the rank of a leader.

"What business does an Elf, a Man, a Dwarf and…giant Wolf have in the Riddermark?" He demanded. "Speak quickly!"

"Give me your name, Horsemaster," Tarlen inwardly groaned as Gimli said this, "and I shall give you mine."

Tarlen closely watched the leader of the band as he handed his spear to another rider and dismounted his horse in one fluid motion. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Aragorn put a hand on Gimli's shoulder.

The rider stared hard at him. "I would cut off your head, Dwarf, if it stood but a little higher from the ground."

Feeling threatened, Tarlen snarled and snapped at him, barely missing the arm that held his helmet. At the same moment, Legolas whipped out an arrow and pointed it at the leader in its bow. "You would die before your stroke fell!" He declared. Despite their sudden movements, the rider didn't flinch, and his eyes steeled.

The riders closed in even more and Tarlen growled at a spearman whose weapon hovered just a little too close for her liking.

She glanced around warily, naturally taking in numbers, and found that the odds were innumerable. Far too many for the four hunters to take on by themselves.

The leader watched first Legolas, then Tarlen for any more threats. When he looked at Tarlen, it was as if he had seen her for the very first time and his eyes slowly travelled down the blood-matted fur on her body, taking note of her size and fierce golden eyes, of her razor sharp teeth and claws, and lingered on the medallion that still rested around her neck.

Under his perusal she almost felt bared, naked for all to see, and she desperately wanted to cover herself up. Instead she notched her chin up further, waiting for his eyes to meet her gaze which, to her satisfaction, held a little more wariness than they had before. Her new-found vulnerability struck a cord with her, and Tarlen had to restrain herself from snarling.

Aragorn pushed Legolas' arms down, and stared at Tarlen with raised, disapproving eyebrows until she, grudgingly, sat down.

"I am, Aragorn, son of Arathorn. This is Tarlen Golden-eye. This is Gimli, son of Gloin, and Legolas of the Woodland realm." Aragorn gestured to each of them in turn. "We are friends of Rohan, and of Théodan, your king."

"Théodan no longer recognises friend from foe." The leader took off his helmet. "Not even his own kin."

Like it was a secret signal, all the spears withdrew, but Tarlen still sat tense on her haunches, ready to spring if need be.

"Saruman has poisoned the mind of the king and claimed lordship over these lands," the leader continued. My company are those loyal to Rohan, and for that, we are banished." He stepped forward and looked at Legolas, Gimli and Aragorn in turn. "The white wizard is cunning. He walks here and there, they say, as an old man hooded and cloaked." He glared at Legolas, and said threateningly, "And everywhere our spies slip past our nets."

Tarlen couldn't help it, she growled furiously. The man had gone a step too far.

The Rohan leader glanced disparagingly at her. "I suggest you keep your…animal," he spat out the word, "under control."

"Enough!" Tarlen barked. There was silence as every head turned towards her in amazement. Whispered exclamations came from all directions, but she ignored them. Her eyes burned down at the leader. She didn't care that everyone stared at her—she was livid. "How dare you accuse this company of treason? Do you really think a spy of Sauron would make himself this obvious?"

Tarlen had to admire the man—he hid his surprise and quickly retorted, "I think a spy of Sauron would look a lot like you, _wolf._ They say when Sauron was strong, he would take the form of a wolf. Wargs are related to wolves, and are used by the Orcs. Wolf attacks have grown large of late; and you are no ordinary wolf. Oh, yes, I think a spy would look very much like _you._"

Tarlen was about to reply when, with a sharp look at Tarlen, Aragorn intervened, "We are no spies. We track a party of Uruk-hai westward across the plain. They've taken two of our friends captive."

The Rohan leader looked grave. "The Uruks are destroyed. We slaughtered them during the night."

"But there were two hobbits," Gimli said frantically. "Did you see two hobbits with them?"

"They would be small—only children to your eyes," Aragorn added.

"We left none alive. We piled the carcasses and burned them," the man replied, pointing to a smoke rising in the distance.

"Dead?" Gimli's voice was dismayed.

The man nodded, a shadow drawing over his face. "I am sorry."

"No!" Tarlen cried in desperation. Legolas put a comforting hand on her back, knotting it in her fur as he too restrained his grief.

"Hasufel! Arod!" The man called, and two horses came forward; one grey and one chestnut. "May these two horses bear you to better fortune than their former masters. Farewell." He put his helmet back on and mounted his horse. "Look for your friends. But do not trust to hope—it has forsaken these lands." Then he shouted, "We ride north!"

The four hunters watched and the Rohirrim cantered off, and Tarlen asked, "Who was that man?"

Aragorn glanced at her. "He is Éomer, son of Éomund, Third Marshall of Rohan. Step carefully with him, Tarlen. He had the King's ear when he was well, and will again if Théoden King ever gets better."

Xxx

So, that was the first chapter up…what do you think? I'm sorry this took longer than I thought to write—I've started school again and chapters are going to come out a lot slower than before. Sorry!

I hope you liked this, and please read and review!

22/07/14 I'm back! To reiterate what I must have said years ago, I am very sorry for not updating this sooner, and I will now endeavor to try to complete this series :) I love writing about Tarlen and her adventures, so it shouldn't be too hard! Look out for chapter 2.


	2. Reunited

Hi all, back again after who knows how long! I apologise for the delay in continuing Tarlen's story. I'm sorry this is just a short chapter, as I was keen to get something out rather than keep people waiting! Enjoy :) Warning: there will also be some dark themes later in the story. I will change it to M if necessary.

...

Tarlen lay sprawled in shock.

"You are tracking the footsteps of two young hobbits."

"Where are they?" Aragorn cried.

She had been tensed to attack the White Wizard, Saruman, when her paws had started burning, and when she had flung herself at the gleaming light, she had been flung aside, as easily deflected as Gimli's axe and Legolas' arrow.

"They passed this way the day before yesterday. They met someone they did not expect. Does that comfort you?" The Wizard asked.

_The hell it did_, Tarlen thought, snarling.

"Who are you? Show yourself!" Aragorn demanded.

The light dimmed, and a figure stepped forward. He was familiar, yet different. He still had the same long beard and twinkling blue eyes. Yet he seemed new…refreshed. Tarlen stared in amazement. "Gandalf!"

"It cannot be. You fell."

"Through fire and water. From the lowest dungeon to the highest peak, I fought with the Balrog of Morgoth. Until at last I threw down my enemy and smote his ruin upon the mountainside."

As he continued, Tarlen's eyes grew wider and wider as she unconsciously pulled herself up to sit on her haunches, lost in Gandalf's story. As he drew to a close, and the others also greeted him with cries of joy and wonder, Tarlen padded up to him and nuzzled her head under his arm, too overwhelmed with delight and relief for words. He laughed gently and patted her black fur. No words were needed.

"I am Gandalf the White," he continued, and Tarlen barked happily. "And I come to you now at the turn of the tide."

Indicating they should follow, he marched forward, as if some invisible path were laid out for him amongst the tangled jungle of Fangorn Forest. "Tarlen, I suggest before we depart the privacy of the woods that you shift. Be quick. We have little time."

Nodding without question, Tarlen turned to Aragorn, who had packed her clothes into his pack for a quicker passage. As she shifted, she couldn't help but grin with relief. Over three full days as a wolf had taken its toll on her, and an indescribable itch had steadily grown within her. She sighed with relief as she felt the cool breeze on her naked skin, itch relieved, and dressed herself. On her return to the others waiting, she turned to Legolas, who had carried her knives on her belt, and buckling it on, she said, "It's good to be human again."

Clearly impatient, Gandalf strode forward once more, and Tarlen had to hop as she put her boots on to keep up. A sense of urgency seemed to have replaced his joy at seeing them, and new lines of worry crinkled his forehead.

"One stage of your journey is over, another begins. War has come to Rohan. We must ride to Edoras with all speed."

...

The strange company drew to a halt, and Tarlen drew her gaze away from Rohan's dizzyingly large plains. Along the journey, Gandalf had updated the four hunters on Merry and Pippin's whereabouts, assuring them that the pair was safe with the Ents.

"Edoras and the Golden Hall of Meduseld. There dwells Theoden, King of Rohan…whose mind is overthrown." Tarlen glanced over at Gandalf, who was eying up the large city in front of them as he would a dangerous opponent. He continued, "Saruman's hold over King Theoden is now very strong."

"You will defeat him." Tarlen made it a statement rather than a question. Her trust and confidence in him was absolute. "You are ten times the wizard Saruman could even dream of being."

"I hope not, my dear," Gandalf said, sparing her a dark look. "Because then the tide of the war would go even further against our favour."

She was silently contemplative after that. Tarlen's confidence in him was still complete, but it was the thought of where they would be without Gandalf that creased her brow with worry.

Tarlen grimaced as the company cantered forward once more, bouncing behind Aragorn as she gripped his waist with a death grip. These saddles were not designed to carry two people. She glanced over at Gimli behind Legolas, and they shared a look that told of all the sorrows of the last four hours. The scene would be comic if she didn't have such a sense of foreboding.

...

I'm sorry very little happened in this scene. I promise a lot more will happen in the next. Please read and review! Kind criticism welcome.


	3. The Hall of Meduseld

Next chapter up! Enjoy!

...

"You'll find more cheer in a graveyard," Gimli muttered as they wandered through the streets of Edoras.

It was a sorry sight indeed. Women and children lined the road, among them tired old men, the crowd interjected with grim-faced soldiers. Their clothes were plain and tattered, blowing in the wind as they stared at the strangers with sunken eyes. Distantly, Tarlen could hear the crying of a baby, and as they climbed the hill it grew louder and louder. She tried to offer the mother some food, but she shied away like a wary filly, shielding the bundle with her body. Tarlen's mouth set in a hard line as she jogged to keep up with the company. She didn't want to be left behind in case the crowd suddenly decided to pick her of her possessions.

"This is shocking," she muttered harshly to Legolas, breaking the eerie silence.

He 'hmm'd' in agreement, blue eyes set on a man fingering an axe, a menacing light in his eyes as he stared at them. A moment later Legolas said, "I sharpened your blade the other day."

"Good to know," Tarlen responded.

They approached the steps to the hall and some guards approached them. The leader of them began, "I cannot allow you before Theoden King so armed, Gandalf Grayhame. By the order of Grima Wormtongue."

Gandalf gave a silent nod of acknowledgement and, raising her brows, Tarlen reluctantly pulled the knives from her belt. Her mind faltered as a thought came to her. As she handed them to the nearest guard, she purposefully-accidentally nicked her left index finger on one of the blades.

"Oh, ouch," she exclaimed, holding out her finger for the guard to see. "Ah, well, just a scratch." Then she suppressed a grin as he visibly froze, his gaze centred on her finger as it rapidly stitched itself back together. Tarlen held his gaze when it turned suspiciously on her. He opened his mouth to speak –

"Your staff," the first guard (whom she later found out was called Hama) pressed, unknowingly interrupting the guard next to me.

Gandalf sent him a bemused glance. "Surely you would not deny an old man his walking stick."

Hama hesitated, a worried look on his face, before letting them pass through the doors, Gandalf leaning on Legolas for support.

The hall was dark. The windows had been shuttered so that only slivers of light trickled through, not strong enough to permeate the shadows. Musty air filled Tarlen's lungs as her eyes adjusted, temporarily using her enhanced sense of smell. As with all Rohirrim, the strong smell of horse and leather was present, along with the scent of tangy metal. Rustles could be heard as the few people that were in the room turned to look at the small company. Eyes adjusted, Tarlen saw a small, weedy man knelt beside the throne at the end of the hall, whispering into the king's ear whilst looking at them with sharp blue eyes.

"The courtesy of your hall is somewhat lessened of late…Theoden King," Gandalf greeted. The man next to the king ducked once more to whisper in his ear, like a rat nibbling away at forbidden cheese. His hair was greasy and his skin was a pale shade of white.

Behind her to the right, Tarlen counted three…no, four guards shadowing them, from the soft clank of metal and echoing footsteps. She flexed her fingers.

"Why should I welcome you…Gandalf Stormcrow?" The king choaked. Looking at him properly, Tarlen was startled at his apparent age. She briefly wondered how a leader so obviously weak was still a leader, but then Gandalf's words returned to her. _His mind has been overthrown._

"A just question, my liege," the rat agreed. He finally left his 'master's' side to approach the company. "Late is the hour…in which this conjurer chooses to appear. Lathspell I name him. Ill news is an ill guest."

"Be silent!" Gandalf snapped. "Keep your forked tongue behind your teeth. I have not passed through fire and death…to be bandy crooked by a witless worm." He lifted his staff.

"His staff," Grima said, dismayed. "I told you to take the wizard's staff."

The rush of feet gave her all the warning Tarlen needed. Ducking, she punched her attacker in the ribs, followed by a knee to his nose as she rose, knocking him to the floor. It was the same man from the street. She pressed her foot against his neck. "Move, and I'll snap your neck."

Glancing around, she took note of the company's status. They had fared well, all of the rat's minions being restrained quickly. She nodded in approval at Hama and the other Rohirrim, who had trusted them to deal with the rat and his men.

"…I will draw you, Saruman, as poison is drawn from a wound."

A girl rushed forward. Aragorn caught her.

Gandalf and Theoden – Saruman – seemed to be in a parry of words and mental strength. Suddenly, Theoden leapt forward, as if to lunge for the White Wizard, but Gandalf thrust him backwards with his staff. Finally, Theoden slumped forward, as if in exhaustion, and Tarlen worried that Saruman's earlier words of killing him would turn out to be true. The girl rushed forward. A change seemed to overtake him. The wrinkles in his face smoothed out, his hair grew shorter, and a mist seemed to clear from his eyes. His gaze wandered the room as though seeing it for the first time.

"I know your face," Theodan murmured, looking at the girl quizzically. She smiled, and Tarlen briefly noted how beautiful she was, with long golden tresses and shining blue eyes. "Eowyn. Eowyn…" The king turned to the wizard. "Gandalf?"

"Breathe the free air again, my friend."

Standing, Theoden commented, "Dark have been my dreams of late." He stared at his hands.

"Your fingers would remember their old strength better…if they grasped your sword."

At this moment, Tarlen saw a flicker of shadow out of the corner of her eyes; the smell of something not quite right. She followed the movement sharply, to see – nothing. She frowned, casting her eyes about the room. Suddenly, the man beneath her foot shifted, and her attention was diverted as she growled, "I don't make idle threats. One more movement."

She glanced back to the centre of the hall, where Theoden was scowling at the rat, his sword held menacingly in his hand. Hama and the other Rohirrim took charge of the rat's minions, whilst two more, eager to have revenge on the pathetic man, grasped his arms and threw him out of the door. He tumbled down the steps.

Having heard the commotion, a crowd had gathered at the base of the steps. Tired and hungry faces stared at the wondrous sight of their leader, fit and well, and the worm who had wriggled his way into the heart of Rohan's politics.

"I've only…ever served you, my lord," it pleaded, crawling back on its hands as Theoden falteringly advanced closer.

"Your leechcraft would have had me crawling on all fours like a beast!"

"Send me not from your sight," the rat pleaded.

Theoden raised his sword above his head, as if to kill him. Tarlen and Aragorn rushed forward, the latter crying, "No, my lord! No, my lord. Enough blood has been spilled on his account."

Bending down, the ranger offered the pitiful man his hand. He spat at the proffered help, and filled with a sudden fury, Tarlen took two strides and kicked the worm in the stomach so that he bounced away with a cry of pain. Awkwardly pushing himself up, the worm pushed through the crowd, shouting, "Out of my way!" as he clasped his stomach.

Aragorn raised a disapproving eyebrow at her. The girl might have felt guilty, but then she looked around at city, filled with leaderless, lost people, thanks to _that man_.

"What can I say?" Tarlen said innocently. "I really don't like worms."

...

So, what was with the shadow in the corner?! Wait for the next chapter to find out! Tarlen has more than just a land full of lost and wandering Rohirrim to worry about...Please review!


	4. The Wolves of Isengard

Finally, the next chapter is up! I only own Tarlen. Enjoy!

Tarlen walked alone among the hundreds of people who had exited Edoras. She had to. No one would walk with her. She glanced around, feeling like a fish out of water. She had tried – really, she had – but rumour of her abilities had spread, much as she had tried to stop it, thanks to a few unguarded words from Gimli in a drunken moment. Now, the strangeness of her appearance explained, more imaginative and far-fetched rumours had infected the people with the idea that Tarlen was untrustworthy, a spy of Sauron. Aragorn had offered to try to talk to Theoden, but she knew no amount of king's speeches would lesson their suspicion. Actions spoke louder than words.

It wasn't that she minded, after all. She understood. It was a problem her people had wrestled with for hundreds of years before they 'went to ground'.

Tarlen noticed that Gimli and Legolas took turns with walking with her, either in companiable silence, in fits of giggles, or in deep conversation, and she was grateful for their company. Aragorn also walked with her, but much of his time he spent with Eowyn, although he had seemed particularly keen on hiding away with Tarlen at mealtimes. She smiled at the thought of Eowyn's…interesting cookery skills. However, it was Legolas that spent most of his time with her. He also found it difficult to fit in with the people of Edoras, due to his naturally cold, elvish nature.

Tarlen jumped out of her reverie as she heard the sound of laughter, and she glanced up to see Gimli on the ground as his horse cantered off, shouting, "It's alright. No body panic. That was deliberate. It was deliberate."

Tarlen suppressed a grin, adjusted her pack on her shoulders, and carried on walking.

…

The wind changed. Tarlen tensed, her nose twitching.

"What is it?" Aragorn asked, noticing the sudden change in his companion's demeanour. "What can you smell?"

Tarlon ran to the crest of the next hill, Aragorn hot on her heels. Gamling sat atop his horse, fighting a warg rider. Another rider wasn't moving on the ground – Hama. Legolas was already there, arrow notched. He fired, hitting the warg. It fell to the ground. Another arrow flew through the air, thudding into the orc.

"A scout!" Legolas shouted.

Aragorn and Tarlen sprinted down the hillside.

"What is it? What do you see?" Theoden cried.

"Wargs!" Tarlen shouted, at the same time as Aragorn shouted, "Wargs! We're under attack!"

People began to scream as the news spread like wildfire.

"Get them out of here!" Aragorn yelled.

"All riders to the head of the column," Theoden commaded

Tarlen glanced around, seeing an old man leading an oxen with a cart.

"Here, take my pack," she demanded, throwing it onto the cart. Her belt with her weapons soon followed. She didn't have time to undress. Someone tried to give her a horse, but she shook her head.

Gimli was astride his horse now, crying, "Forward. I mean, charge forward."

Running forward, she slapped his horse on the rump, causing it to leap forward, Gimli clinging on for dear life. Then she howled.

She shifted. The seams of her clothing ripped, and fur burst from her skin. She was running, shifting as she went. She caught up with the horses. She howled again, her muscles bunching and flexing, pushing her forward with every stride.

The wargs galloped closer.

The war cries of the Rohirrim echoed off the rocks as they raised their spears in roaring defiance.

Tarlen picked her target. She bared her teeth, gnashing at the warg rider. She was close enough to see the white hand printed on its armour.

With a bunching of muscles, she hurled herself at the warg. They hit each other with a crunch. Twisting, the wolf and the warg battled through the air, the impact of Tarlen's jump pushing them backward.

Separating herself, Tarlen skidded on landing, darted to the side as she saw the flash of an orc sword. The rider had fallen off on impact and he came after her with an ugly shout. Dodging another swipe, she went straight for his throat, blood gushing as she ripped it out. The tangy taste of blood spiked through her senses. The orc died instantly.

Spinning around, Tarlen ducked just in time to see the warg fly over her head. It staggered on impact. It's leg hung at an awkward angle.

Without hesitating, Tarlen lunged for it, gripping its leg between her teeth and swinging it to onto the ground. Again, she dealt a fatal blow.

The wind was knocked out of her. She hit the ground with a thud, gasping for breath, followed by chasing teeth. She whirled away and an arrow whisked over her shoulder, straight into the centre of the warg's head.

Tarlen glanced behind her, nodding a silent thanks to Legolas before leaping back into the fray.

…

With a simple twist of her paws, Tarlen broke the orc's neck as she knocked him off his warg. She stayed long enough to deal a few debilitating blows to the warg before a Rohirrim rider finished it off with a sweep of his sword as he rode by.

Glancing around, she noticed a pile of dead wargs. Something was squirming underneath it. She ran over to it, taking out a few more wargs on the way – and saw Gimli.

"Is this a new type of frontal body massage I haven't heard of?" Tarlen grinned, panting.

Gimli glared at her. "Just get this thing off me you hairy beast!"

"Now that's just rude," the wolf retorted, as she bodily pushed the warg's off Gimli's body. She was momentarily interrupted by an orc screaming towards her.

She returned when she had finished. Legolas covered her, shooting down anything that came near.

Gimli said, "Would you hurry up, lassie? That pointy-eared elf is going to overtake me!"

"What's your count?" Tarlen grunted as she pushed.

"…6."

"You're going to have a lot of catching up to do then." Tarlen heaved the last warg off.

Gimli scrambled to his feet, grabbing his axe and swinging it just as an orc rushed him. The head chopped clean off.

"Don't worry, there'll be plenty of pretty, marred faces by the time I'm finished today."

…

The warg riders had scampered away, their numbers significantly reduced. However, the numbers of the Rohirrim were also now much less in number. Tarlen quickly finished off a straggling orc.

She picked her way through the bodies. Both friend and enemy lay before her. Every Rohirrim she came across, she checked if he were alive; every orc she came across, she checked to make sure they were dead. Her coat was matted with blood. Bits of skin and fur had clung between her claws, but she had wiped it off in disgust as the wargs had retreated. She wanted a bath – a long one, with herbal scents, bubbles…the whole deal. She sighed longingly. If only it were possible.

News of Aragorn's disappearance had spread quickly, and the wolf trotted over to Gimli and Legolas, who stood on the edge of a cliff. Water rushed at its base. There was no sign of a body.

"Get the wounded on horses. The wolves of Isengard will return," Theoden was saying. He glanced at Tarlen, Legolas and Gimli. "Leave the dead."

It took a moment for Aragorn's death to sink it. Theoden left them to their grief as they stared over the edge of the cliff. Aragorn…dead. Unable to cry, Tarlen whined, and Legolas rested his hand on her fur. A silent offer of comfort.

What would happen now? Now the king would never return to Gondor – what did that mean? The wolf had lost a friend today. She growled, a sudden anger rushing behind her eyes as she stared down at the river. If they hadn't attacked – if Saruman was still the White…

"Aragorn's death shouldn't be in vain," Tarlen murmured. Legolas and Gimli still heard her though. She snapped her head round to look at them. "I will track the wargs back to Isengard. Maybe I can gather some information about the enemy's tactics."

Before they could stop her, she spun around and loped forward after the wargs.

She vaguely heard their protestations as she moved off, but she chose to ignore them. She needed time alone, and they needed a miracle if they were going to survive Saruman's wrath.

…

Tarlen kept on running, and running, and running. Sometimes she had caught sight of the wargs in the distance, so she had had to slow her pace, in order to not to be seen by them. She had been lucky with the wind – it had kept her downwind from the wargs for nearly the entire journey.

She liked the open space of Rohan. If she hadn't been tracking the wargs, she would have enjoyed being able to run freely without limitations. But even now, these limits were in place. She tried not to think about Aragorn.

The golden-eyed girl slowed her pace as she came to a field of jagged rocks. Lowering her nose to the ground as she trotted along, she followed the wargs' scent. However, there were so many scents, it was hard to keep track. Slowing to a walk, the wolf snuffled the ground, trying to focus on the one scent of warg. The foliage tickled her nose as she stepped around a particularly large rock.

A searing pain shot up her back. The Tarlen flailed to the ground. She tried to move her limbs – but she couldn't. Panic gripped her. She whined and tried to move her head.

An orc stepped into her vision, smiling a horrible smile as it glared down at her, tossing a large rock in his hand.

"The Master sees _all_," it snarled. Then everything went black.

...

So, what did you think? The next few chapters will hopefully reveal a strength Tarlen never knew she had...that is the only clue I'm giving for now! Please read and review!


	5. Of Worms and Wolves

Just a short one today, but I felt this deserved a chapter of its own. I only own Tarlen. Enjoy!

...

Tarlen woke with a jolt. Cold stone pressed again her naked skin. She forced herself to lie still as recollections came of the orcs by the rocks. She gradually checked her body, checking for any injuries, anything not right. Chains were clamped around her arms and legs, and rattled whenever she moved. She was fine. Yet something was…wrong – very wrong. She tried to shift…but nothing responded, the wolf simply wasn't there. She felt empty, like a part of her was missing.

She frowned as she glanced around her, her hands grazing her body as she searched for anything missing…except there wasn't anywhere for anything to hide. She was naked. Bare.

She was in a circular chamber. Dark. No windows. She could distantly hear the crashes and cries outside. It sounded as if an army of 10,000 Uruk-hai was out there.

Tarlen shivered, both with cold and fear. Panic began to dawn on her. She felt reduced, lost. She tried to smell her surroundings, tried to expand her senses. Dread coiled in the pit of her stomach. She could smell nothing but far-off smoke, could taste nothing, could _feel_ nothing…but her own skin and how cold she was beginning to feel.

"Ah, you are awake." White robes brushed against the floor. White hair fell off his thin, weathered face. Grey tinged the middle of his beard. He walked purposefully over to a cabinet on the edge of the circular wall. "You seem panicked."

Tarlen took a shaky breath, trying to call on years of practice of covering her expression. "I'm fine."

"There is something of yours that you are missing…something of yours that I now have." He watched her with a mild expression of amusement as her composure faltered. Reaching into the cabinet, he drew out a glass filled with a clear liquid and with a stirrer in it. At the bottom, a black powder rested. He let the clacking resound around the room as he stirred it. The powder whirred round and round in the glass, until it finally disappeared into a transparent liquid once more.

Tarlen licked her lips as she stared at the glass. "What's that?"

"Your medication, _Tarlen_."

The girl stiffened and bit out, "What am I doing here, _Saruman_?"

The wizard watched her through narrow eyes. "I gave an acquaintance of mine a…charm, so that he could ward of detection if he wished. He said you saw him at the Hall of Meduseld. He stayed in Edoras a while longer and told me…something interesting about your _abilities_."

Bile rose in her throat as dread clutched her stomach. Tarlen whispered, "What have you done?"

"Come here." She thought he was talking to her, but then two orcs came out of the darkness. She staggered to her feet. "Restrain her."

"What have you done?" Tarlen voice raised as her breath quickened. "No!"

One orc roughly grabbed her arms behind her back, whilst the other yanked on her hair and tried to force her mouth open. She bit him and he screamed in pain, but didn't let her go. She tried to shift again, but to no avail. Tarlen fought. She pulled against them, but her former strength was gone. She no more than dragged them a few inches across the floor.

Saruman pressed the glass to her firmly shut lips. One of the orcs kicked her. She opened her mouth to scream in pain, but the liquid poured down her mouth. Some dribbled down her chin. She gurgled, fighting to avoid swallowing, but her head was pulled so far back her eyes were on the ceiling. Another yank on her hair and she reflexively swallowed. She was crying and shaking, desperately fighting – but the damage was done.

They released her and her knees gave way as she collapsed to the ground. Strands of her black hair floated to the ground.

She shook violently as she leaned against her chains, too weak to take her own weight, murmuring over and over, "what have you done to me? what have you done?"

He merely carried on talking as he arranged his desk.

"You responded badly to the treated at first. I didn't think you'd make it through. But you were determined. You fought to be alive." Saruman replaced the glass in the cabinet.

"What have you done to me? What have you done?" Tarlen sobbed, choking on each word as she pulled at her chains. Saruman continued to ignore her as he screwed the lid on a now-empty bottle and returned it back to a shelf.

"Why?" She cried hoarsely.

"Because you have something that we want." Grima walked into the room, his usual quivering smirk on his face. "Forgive me, you _did_ have something that we wanted. Something like a wolf."

Tarlen stared blankly at the wall as realization dawned on her. The room began to whirl around her. Her chest felt constricted, and she struggled to breath.

"Until next time." Saruman exited the room with a swish of his robes.

Grima began to follow him, but exclaimed and turned around. He strode forward and delivered a heavy kick to Tarlen's stomach. She cried out with pain, her winded body gasping for breath as she hit the floor with a smack.

"What can I say?" Grima said, echoing the words Tarlen had said so few days ago. "I don't like wolves." Then he left.

Nudity had never been an issue at home, but here, feeling the cold stone floor beneath her, the skin of her knees against her chest, her thighs clamping together as she curled in a ball, she had never felt so stunned and wretched as she did then; never as rubbed and wasted, so raw to the bone. A moment of clarity hit her like a wave of water. She was alone.

...

Please read and review to find out what happens next!


	6. Of Capture and Desolation

Hello! I'm so sorry this has taken a while to wirte, but to make up for it, this chapter is longer! I hope you enjoy it. I only own Tarlen.

...

The quiet was almost deafening now. 10,000 Uruk-hai had drained from Isengard's keep nearly an hour ago. Before they had left, the racket had been numbing. It only served to nail down further the fact that Tarlen had failed. The noise had grown louder and louder as the time for their departure drew near. Tarlen had not only failed in gathering information about the enemy, but she had most likely just aided them in their quest to destroy Rohan. Now it was the quiet before the storm.

She had tried to escape. She had tried to reach the mahogany desk on the other side of the room, where she knew a set of keys rested temptingly. When that had failed, she had tried banging the chains against the floor. It had been futile, yet she had continued, hitting harder and harder, venting her anger. The dull thud did little to fill the ache in her heart, and with a cry of anguish, she relented, noting with a bitter smile that she had not even made a scratch on the black stone floor. The rational thought that no weapon had ever been able to blight these walls did little to abate her anger. Now frustration marred her features, creases of worry forming as she thought of her friends in peril. Without looking, she knew that bruises were beginning to make her wrists blush. Her pathetic situation had made her want to collapse down and cry, but she wouldn't. She had cried enough in this foul place.

"So, you are awake." Tarlen jumped and whirled round to see Saruman standing in the doorway. As ever, he wore his white robes, which seemed to Tarlen a little tarnished now, not quite so pure.

"You made me _human_," she spat, her defensive system kicking in as she tried to cover her nakedness. "Why? _How_?"

Saruman raised a wiry eyebrow. "I used means that are beyond your comprehension. You may call this – an experiment."

"I am no lab rat!" Tarlen roared, lunging forward.

"Hah!" With a single step, Saruman brandished his staff and an invisible force sent her flying backwards. Her head met the stonewall with a loud crack.

Tarlen groaned as she tried to push herself upright, her vision growing dizzy. Her hand reached round to gently brush the area of her head that hit the wall and it came back sticky with blood. She gagged as the dizziness became unbearable, and then a wave of sickness overtook her and she hurled violently on the floor.

"Are you finished?" Saruman asked, his voice dripping with disdain. Tarlen glared at him through the loose strands of her black hair, panting, and spat the last of her sick at his feet.

"You were so interesting a find for my orcs when they discovered you that they delivered you to me in a rare spark of intelligence."

"Why am I still alive?" Tarlen growled, still glaring at him. He was staring at her with something akin to lust. "So I can fulfill your feverish fantasies because no other wench will?"

Saruman chuckled. "No, no, you are safe from that – for now. What good is an experiment if I tamper with the non-variable?"

So that was what she was. A non-variable. He must have seen her expression change, because he exclaimed, "Don't tell me you thought you still had a meaning in this world? You are nothing – you were once a wolf and a woman. Now you are just a woman. But what are you without the wolf? What are you without that second spark of being? Nothing." He took another step towards her. "So, what are you?"

She raised her eyes from the ground and stared him in the eye. "I am Tarlen Golden-eye."

The slap stung her cheek before she even realized it had happened. Saruman growled, "What are you? Speak!"

"I am –"

"You are _nothing_!" Saruman roared. A flick of his staff sent her flying across the room again, but her chains yanked her back, and Tarlen felt a terrible crack in her left shoulder. She screamed in pain. She landed on the floor with a thud, and lay still for as she gasped for breath. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing for the pain to go away.

Suddenly, a pop filled the room as Tarlen felt her shoulder right itself. The pain disappeared, and she stared at it in amazement.

Saruman swiftly grabbed her arm, pulling it back and forth as he inspected it. A look of cool professionalism was now on his face. "Interesting. You can no longer shift, yet you still have your healing powers." He dropped her arm. On his way out of the room, he continued, "I shall have to deal with that."

Later that day, orcs restrained her, much as they had before as Saruman forced a dark vial of liquid down her throat. Again she struggled, again she fought, but again her head was yanked back, causing her to reflexively swallow. However, this time, as the orcs stepped back, she noticed a set of keys on one of their belts. She took stock of this information and tucked it away as Saruman turned a watchful eye on her before leaving the room, shouting Grima's name.

The next day, when Saruman cut her, blood trickled down her wrist…and it kept on flowing.

…

She raced through the grass, the strands whipping her would not be long before orcs or Uruk-hai found her or, God forbid, wargs. She had to get to Helm's Deep before then. She was beginning to feel faint, dizzy even. Her head throbbed. The cut on her wrist, although it had stopped bleeding, was still raw, and she feared infection.

When Saruman had cut her, she had stared at the blood trickling down her wrist in fascination. It had..._hurt_. It still stung. She had stared at that first trickle of blood as it made a hesitant path down to the crook of her arm. Typical of Saruman, he had remained detached the whole time, leaving Tarlen to fidget over her new-found mortality.

"Now you know what it feels like to be _human_," Saruman had whispered in her ear gleefully. Horror and fear were muted in her mind, numbed. The blood pooled in the crook of her arm. Fascinating.

It had taken her a full 10 minutes to realize that the room was empty, save for the orc standing watch at the doorway. Tarlen gave her head a thorough shake. What was happening to her? She was debilitated, a half being, not whole. A part of her felt so achingly empty. She felt so alone…no voice growling and snapping at her to get on with it, to finish the task, no matter what the cost to herself. No bloodlust, no extra strength that she often so desperately needed. Yet the need to shift was still there; pulsing, like an itch that could never be scratched.

Tarlen forced herself to think of home; of her brothers, fighting in Gondor; of her Ma and Pa, struggling to keep the last remaining clan of shifters together. She thought of Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli, hopefully at Helm's Deep by now; of Gandalf, wherever he was, searching for Eomer. They didn't need her anymore…but that didn't mean she didn't need them.

Glancing around, her eyes alighted on the orc standing watch.

…

She had watched him. She had watched the other orcs within the tower. She had observed all that she could see, picking and discarding information as she saw fit as a plan began to unfold. Days went by and she began to understand the routine of the guards. They seemed to work in three shifts, from morning to mid-afternoon (around 4 o'clock), mid-afternoon to midnight, then midnight to morning (around 8). Always it was the same orcs for the same shifts. The changing of shifts was an informal affair. When it was time, the orc, happy it was the end of his shift, would ram the keys into the newcomer's hands and run off, eager to get to…whatever orcs did in their free time, and the newcomer would take up his position.

It was the beginning of the mid-afternoon shift that Tarlen decided to make her move.

"I need to use the lavatory," she proclaimed primly. She sat in her usual position, hands covering her areas to try to retain some semblance of privacy.

"Can't ya wait?" The orc grunted, his leather skin contorting into a gruesome look of disgust. His pointy ears twitched as a fly buzzed around them.

Tarlen notched her chin up higher, trying to gain some advantage in the awkward situation. "Unless you want me to…" She swept her arm across the floor, making her suggestion clear.

The orc hobbled over, muttering something under his breath about women, and how he should have eaten her when he'd had the chance. She realized that he must be one of the orcs who'd found her.

With a neat snick, the chains came free. Tarlen rubbed her wrists, which still had thick bracelets of bruises wrapped around them.

"No funny business," the orc screeched, pressing a knife against her back. He walked her over through the main door, right, through another door, down a flight of stairs (which seemed to whirl round from the top to the bottom of the tower, leading to all the different levels, she noted) through another door, and they were there.

Tarlen blushed, embarrassed and angry, as the orc watched as she relieved herself. He obviously took his guard duty very seriously.

He let down his guard just as they were exiting the room. He had turned away to open the door, and she rushed him, grabbing the arm holding the knife and yanking it across his back. She slammed him, face first, against the wall, again and again, until he had dropped the knife and was unconscious. He dropped to the floor.

Tarlen quickly tugged his armor and clothes off, claiming them for herself. Her nose wrinkled at the smell. Glancing around anxiously, she tried to cover up as much skin as possible, not wanting to give away its light colouring.

Then she had slipped around corners, through corridors, a mad dash down the steps. She jumped the last flight. Landing with a grunt, she mentally groaned at the pain in her knees. The feeling of lacking crashed into her again, but she forced herself to rise above it and carry on. She had to escape. This one thought drove her.

She paused at the door. Peering out, she saw a skeleton crew of orcs and Uruk-hai marching the battlements. The fires had dimmed somewhat compared to when she had last seen them, half-unconscious as she was dragged along the dusty road between Orthanc and it's walls.

She hesitated, struggling to draw up the courage to step outside. The moment she stepped outside – she may either have to run for her life, or die.

"Oi," a voice shouted behind her. Tarlen whirled round, ready to see an enemy holding a knife to her throat, but instead an Uruk-hai marched towards her. "What are you doing standing around? Get back to work!"

Tarlen had to stop herself from sighing heavily in relief. The stench of orc coming from her armour must be covering her scent.

He watched her beadily as she lumbered through the door, her oversized armour clanging with every movement. She jumped at each noise, terrified one of them would alert the Uruk-hai to her escape. Now she could see why orcs seemed to hobble everywhere.

The Uruk-hai followed her. She could feel his eyes drilling holes into her back. "Faster!" He cried.

Jumping forward, the girl glanced around, torn about what to do. Straight ahead of her, the gate sat temptingly. Orcs and Uruk-hai marched across the road, some carrying armour and weapons, others wood and kindling. To her left and right, forges worked quietly, smoke and steam drifting out of them.

She was saved as the Uruk-hai behind her grabbed a passing orc. "You have orders from the master…"

Tarlen slipped away quietly. Trying to look as unsuspicious as possible, she marched from forge to armoury to another forge, weaving her way towards the gate. Every time she passed an orc or uruk-hai she expected them to look at her and sound the alarm.

Even beyond the gate, she had to be careful. A lone 'orc' was suspicious. At every sound, she would jump, dart behind a rock or a hillock, or simply lower herself below the long grassy fronds and pray that she wasn't caught. It made for slow progress.

As the patrols became less and less frequent however, her speed increased, until she just ran, as fast as she could for as long as she could. When she was gasping for breath, her lungs were aching and her legs nearly numb, she carried on.

But she could find no water. No meat was to be had, for the rabbits were much faster than her tired human legs could take her. There were no fields of wheat, barley or vegetables out here. When she grew desperate, Tarlen began scavenging the ground for bugs, crunching down on their flesh with a grimace. Dirty puddles became her main source of water. She used the stars of the night to guide her towards Helm's Deep.

Her mouth became parched; her skin dry and itchy. With no way to keep her wound clean, it became infected, and her arm became swollen. The infected tissue looked crusty and black.

Finally, after days of travelling with no clean water, her body denied of medicine and screaming with pain, she collapsed on the grass, hearing it crinkle under her weight. She sighed in relief as the worst of the pain left in rest, and when she contemplated getting up to go forward again, her body shrieked in denial. Thinking that one wink's sleep wouldn't do any harm, she let her eyes slowly drift to a close. Before she fell unconscious, she dreamed of the thunder of hooves.

…

"She's gone!" Grima cried as he emerged from the doorway. He jabbed a finger at an Uruk-hai. "You! Get some more Uruk-hai together and _find her_."

Hesitating, the beast glanced uncertainly between the worm, and Saruman, who stood calmly looking out of the window.

"No," the wizard finally commanded. Grima paused and looked incredulously at his master, who eye seemed trained on something 5 leagues beyond the tower. The worm joined him, and finally saw what held Saruman's attention. A lone orc in the distance, too covered in armour to be seen, sprinting through the grasses.

The wizard answered Grima's unanswered question. "She is weak now. Let the Uruk-hai deal with her when they return, victorious, from their quest." He smiled to himself. "They will know what to do with her."

...

Please let me know what you think with a review! I will try and get another chapter up as soon as possible.


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